Withering Mark
In the winter, the chill is so icy that the leaves are left stone and brittle in its wake. If it would remain that way, the frozen piece of art would be a masterpiece of nature's blessings. As if mercy from a piercing sword, the chill freezes the leaves and trees into ice sculptures that are without a doubt magnificent. A rare solace within the harsh, freezing wrath of nature- a sculpture of living ice. But one may only peer through the cold winds without freezing their eye, and perhaps be rewarded a mere glimpse of such a sight.
Qualms from the dark haunt in the light, but death is not the matter but the sadness is lasting. The light of day seems like a prison within itself, bearing the darkness that comes from each corner of my mind. This illumination brings life to the shadows that haunt me. But only in the light, because when there are two opposites one tends to compare. This comparison shatters my existence each time dawn springs to life. The pieces of life that collect themselves within me are not formed from a light but formed more from hauntings of dismayal recollections of the past. As a sword of fire, once it touches cool water it hisses as two opposites meet. But when engulfed in flames, it is as calm as a placid lake. A life of death gives me a calm place to live in, but with no life around there is no meaning to it. Life and death coexisting is sometimes a burden to one which seeks calm. It is a shaky plain of stormy seas that could destroy any hope of survival in an instant.
Yet, I dance to these words...
The lilac flame burns eternal
The embers glow soft and silent
Who knew the light it gave pierced too deep
Into the darkness, leaving a mark
A scar within the cold night
A mark of an death in disguise
While everyone thought it was to bring life
The darkness was dying for eternal reasons
The embers were so bright they hurt
So surreal the omen of death
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